


Not Dead Yet

by ExplodedPen



Series: Snapshots of Survival [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Gen, implied character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-23
Updated: 2008-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplodedPen/pseuds/ExplodedPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's been almost a year, John thinks, as he watches over the others at night. Almost a year since his team tried to dial Atlantis and failed. One hell of an anniversary to have.</i> </p><p>Spoilers for series 4 up to The Kindred Part II</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Dead Yet

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this came from at all. This was written for the [](http://sga-flashfic.livejournal.com/profile)[ **sga_flashfic**](http://sga-flashfic.livejournal.com/)challenge 'Not Dead Yet'

It’s been almost a year, John thinks, as he watches over the others at night. Almost a year since his team tried to dial Atlantis and failed. One hell of an anniversary to have.

He remembers how they dialled the Alpha site instead and saw the pale, grim faces of a handful of personnel all staring motionless with denial at the stargate. A part of him knew then, knew that everything he had known for the past four years was irretrievably gone.

John’s thoughts are momentarily derailed as Rodney shifts in his sleep, murmuring under his breath. His muscles tense, anticipating another one of Rodney’s nightmares, and he is unsurprised to see Teyla wrap a comforting arm round Rodney’s waist and Ronon scooting closer to the both of them. Rodney makes no further noise and his breathing evens out once more.

John relaxes and wonders when it became normal to all share the same large, squashy mattress, offering silent comfort when the nightmares came at night with frightening regularity. Teyla’s son does not bed down on the large mattress with them; he and Ronon constructed a bed for the child determined that the child would not suffer the fate of sleeping on a mattress on the floor. 

He watches them a moment before turning his attention to the doorway. There is a mission going ahead tomorrow, one to visit one of their trading partners in the hope of more food. Everyone is becoming thinner and thinner and it feels like every week they lose another from their dwindling community of survivors. John hates that he can almost see the look of relief on some of the others faces. Another person lost means one less mouth to feed, and John hates that he can almost, _almost_ , understand their relief.

Still, the mission itself causes a coil of anxiety to wind round his gut. He never fails to see Rodney staring at every face in their community before they leave, committing the people to memory. He knows Ronon barely communicates with anyone outside the team and he knows how hard it is for Teyla to watch them leave. John understands why, the bone-deep fear of returning to find their world devastated again. The sudden, unexpected loss of Atlantis and everything they had known cut a deep wound, one John knew would never fully heal.

He remembers at the time wondering if he would lose Rodney to grief and madness, wondering if they would lose Teyla to childbirth, and wondering if Ronon would run again to escape the pain. He was strong, they were strong for each other and came through the grief better than the other survivors.

He remembers the suicide of one of the young soldiers and he remembers giving everyone a talk on the meaning of hope, whilst his team stood beside him, Rodney so still and silent and pale, Teyla who shouldn’t have been on her feet, with her new son cradled in her arms, and Ronon, ever on guard.

 _“We’re not dead yet.”_ He remembers saying.

There is but a fools hope but John knows in his heart of hearts, even as he sits a pointless watch over his team, _his family_ , that they’re dying by degrees. 

Wordlessly, Ronon rises up from the mattress and moves to take John’s place. John nods to him in greeting and hands over the gun before silently stepping over Teyla and Rodney, and lies down in the warm empty spot Ronon vacated.

Watching Rodney’s pale, thin face lost in sleep John wonders, not for the last time, what would have happened had they not gone to visit the remaining Athosians, the ones saved from Michael’s prison. Whether Rodney would have pulled another miracle from thin air, or whether he could have led his men to fight the enemy, or whether Atlantis was obliterated before anyone even knew what was happening.

“John.” Ronon never calls him Sheppard now. “Stop thinking.”

At the sudden quiet noise Rodney’s eyes flick open and he stares blearily at John. John tries to offer a reassuring smile but it’s been a hollow reassurance for so long Rodney doesn’t buy it anymore. Rodney reaches up and clumsily pats John’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

John closes his eyes, enjoying the extra warmth and smiles. It’s been a year since they lost everything and somehow they’re still not dead. The hollow ache lessens for a brief moment and John thinks that’s something to celebrate at least. The Pegasus Galaxy is a harsh mistress, but they’re not dead yet.

  



End file.
